


A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship

by lover_of_blue_roses



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Frustration, George's POV, Implied Fix-It, Let It Be era, Let it be sessions, Love Confessions, M/M, Slow Burn, really nontraditional 'sickfic'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/pseuds/lover_of_blue_roses
Summary: Another day, another fight these are there end days- or are they? Ringo sees what is between George and Paul, and hopes. He does more than hope actually, and hopefully if George can see past his anger, there could be a future for them again.
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison & Ringo Starr, George Harrison/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship

**Author's Note:**

> There is bashing of the wives from George's POV. This does not reflect my views on them.

Paul was... George wasn't actually sure what the fuck exactly was wrong with him. Maybe the busybodies were right, maybe that much hash wasn't good for them. Although if anything it should have made Paul more mellow not less. Yet there Paul was, tyrant of them all, crazed. Again.

'Don't you understand Haz, it has to be _perfect_.' No he did not understand. Also this didn't sound like perfection, it sounded like madness. But God was Paul gonna drive him spare too. With the pretty boy ranting and raving it made dope looking tempting. John didn't look like he cared or even notice that his once best friend was acting like this. He was just sitting there, higher than a kite with his bird. George was no picture of sobriety to be throwing stones but christ!

"Does he actually need us?" Ringo asked dejectedly, just low enough for only him to hear. "Might as well get session musicians if he's gonna be like this." Great and now boy wonder was depressing Ritchie. Not that he didn't have a point. If Paul was the end all and be all of music and being right, then the fuck were they here for? Just use session musicians or robots for the tracks, and then some cardboard cutouts for the touring he's been dying to do. Their ones from the Lonely Hearts' Band shoot should still be around. Would cost them much less, and Paulie dear wouldn't have to worry about them mouthing off.

"Whatever," Ringo couldn't be bothered to actually care about Paul if Paul didn't care about him, and so he sulked off without a word to anyone. God fucking damn it, Paul. Last time Ringo had left, like right proper left not just the band but the whole country, Paul had begged for him to come back. But George honestly wondered why? Did Paul even still see them, or are they just tools, servants to do his unyielding bidding? Because George sure as shite didn't sign up for that.

It's like... it's almost like... That illness from the book he was reading. Lord of the Rings. The series focused on a ring that makes men - people- go mad. The worst kind of a gold sickness, ring sickness. Anything the wearer wanted it would offer it, slowly but surely corrupting their mind while their loved ones could do nothing but watch on in dawning horror, powerless to stop it. That's exactly what this felt like.

Only here instead of a ring, it was being a Beatles itself. The fame, the adoration, hell even the power that came with all of that. There was nowhere they could turn where people weren't screaming out their names. However unlike a cold or even the flu, George knew of no medicine that could help Paul. Yet at the same time, how could he be asked to stay and enable this powertrip.

"Yeah," George threw out, even though Ringo was long gone, only giving a fleeting glance to the recording engineer. No wonder Martin had been turning down working with them for sessions more and more. They were such fucking disasters, Hazza was hardly gonna say it was all Paul's fault. At least Paul had motivation and determination to get things done. But then Ritch was right, no need for the band if it's just the McCartney show. And he was in no mood to fight about it, just taking off his guitar to fuck off himself.

He found Ringo on the roof too. "Good to know you haven't gone home at least."

"Go home to what?"

Fuck, George sighed. Much like George, Ringo was up shit creek with his wife. They thought that without touring things would somehow magically get better. But the ring didn't just corrupt its wearer. Being in its presence was enough to corrupt the steward of Gondor, driving him further and further to the edge. And there was no Beatle spared, for all that George hoped not to have a nervous breakdown like Paul was threatening.

The Beatles would split, there was less and less doubt of that, probably only just one more album if they managed not to off each other for that long. But then what? The tighter Paul held on, the more he was losing them. So would he just go spare, just circle the drain, as he lost control over the one very last thing he sought to control the most?

"Heard Paul's gonna tie the knot though, really seems to like that American bird. Hope it works out," Ringo offered up.

"Yeah, sure." It's not that- Whatever. Sure, sure George wished the maniac all the love his heart was capable of. If he could get his head out of his arse long enough to see other people as people in their own right, and not just possessions for him to hoard like a terrible child. They weren't his toys and they wouldn't dance to his beat. He'd never seen Paul so in love although there been many girls before her, not even with Jane. So maybe this time it was real and true.

So why wasn't George happy for him? Was it because his own life was in the shitter? Was it 'cause he pitied the poor Linda, and what she was getting herself into? Sure there was the fame, fans, and tabloids, but mostly there was Paul. For as great as he could be, he could be just as bad.

"Do you... how do you think John will take it?" Clearly Ringo was avoiding asking his actual question but George would humor him.

"As well as he's taken everything else when it comes to Paul," George bitched as he lit up another one, but fuck he wished it was more than tobacco. If he wasn't even going to work, he could be getting high. Made his problems seem smaller even if it made his appetite bigger. "Why, what's up?"

"Uh well," Ringo pussied footed around uselessly.

"Spit it out man, he can't bite you from up here."

Ritch laughed. At least there was that. When all this was done and over, when the dream was dead and killed they'd still have their memories of the good times, and for all that the last years have been complete rubbish, their highs were very high. Laughter for days it seemed, just on and on always the four of them against an unbelieve world and then an unseeing one. No one understood that they were still people and not toys that performed when wound up, no one but each other.

That was until now. Paul was like a dog with a bone regarding wanting to tour, seemingly not giving a shit that none of them did. It was always just what he wanted, in the studio and out. Fuck, his wife better have no greater ambition that being a doormat. For all that George couldn't fucking stand Yoko, or (and mostly) her presence in the studio, at least John cared about her and clearly valued her opinions. The opposite problem. Maybe George was the problem, having become a grouchy old man at his tender age.

"Actually, it's not him that I'm concerned about."

Ah fuck, so Geo really was the problem. "Alright lay it on me," he ground his fag in the ashtray and layed back on the lounge chair here just for their use.

"I've been thinking, just me I didn't tell no one, but uhhh I was wondering if you could.... y'know _talk_ to Paul."

George squinted as he looked at the hunched over drummer, who was carefully not looking back at him. "Whattas that supposed to mean?"

"Just y'know," he shrugged but no, George did not know. "Now that he and John are on the outs, always fighting, always Yoko and the smack getting between them, you and he seem... close."

"Well he is my mate, has been since I was a lad or did you miss that?" George knew he was being mean for no reason but like fucking hell was this going to be his responsibility, his doing, his fault whether the Beatles lived or died. "But loads happen since then. Now I'm just another one of his coworkers turned serf." He made a cracking whip gesture, "Master doesn't love me anymore."

Ringo didn't even crack a smile. It wouldn't just be Paul that'd circle the drain if they pulled the plug on the Beatles. Ringo looked haggard, tired from more than lack of sleep, and afraid of losing this thing that had defined him, all of them, for so long. For all their fighting, it was once their best of times. How can the rest of their lives, no matter what they do, ever compare?

"Paul's sick."

Ringo furrowed his brow, "He tell you?"

"Nah, nah," George waved that away. "Not like dying or nothing, but sick in the brain. Ring mad," he said as though that made any sense. But he didn't know how to tell his stupid revelation to Ritch.

"And how to ring mad people get better?" Ritch was good enough to play along.

"Throw it into the volcano."

"No way to keep us then?" And all of a sudden Ringo sounded like a scared little boy. Geo could all to clearly imagine that same small soft voice asking his mother if he'd wake up after his next horrifying surgery. George sat up from his lounger. This wasn't a joke, this was their lives.

"I don't see us going anywhere good. We could hurt each other worse before it's all said and done, sometimes a clean break is best."

"We could... we could tour like he's suggesting."

If it had been Paul repeating that bullshite, George would have stomped on the very thought ruthlessly. But with Ringo, his dear Ringo, he wanted to be more gentle. No matter what happened to the Beatles, he wanted to stay friends with Ringo for as long as he'd have him. "I just... don't think it will solve everything like he wants. Can you imagine what John and Yoko would be like on the tour? You've seen how John can get when he's playing high. Do you really think that would help things and not just make everything fall apart faster?"

Ringo shrunk onto himself. It's nice to have this one idea, this last piece of hope to cling to. That maybe, just maybe, if they did this one thing, everything would work out. And now George had thoughtlessly dashed that. With this fighting they were really becoming the worse version of themselves. Here was George, pessimist nah-sayer, and Ringo little more than a pathetic grasping child.

"I could talk to him, if you'd think it'd help," he offered like an olive branch.

"I just think... The way he use to lean on John, hell even Eppy and now-" And now it's all gone, like dust in the wind. Their pillars had seemed better than gold as they stood on top of the world, but now it was all coming tumbling down, little better than pyrite. "I think if you were that, if you just were there for him. It could help. A shoulder to lean on. But not just a doormat to trample, you really give it back to him just as good. I think he needs that. Nowadays John just turns the other cheek and does whatever the fuck he wants anyways... They speak but they don't listen." Wise words as always from Ringo. Just because he sometimes spoke funny didn't mean he wasn't far sharper than any college or uni bloke.

"Think he'd listen to me?"

Ringo looked down at his lap. "Hard to say, I guess. I always thought," he shrugged, "You three always seemed to have something, something special."

George remembered this from when Ringo had quit, that feeling that he was an outsider again, or maybe... that he was an outsider _still_. Nothing could be further from the truth. George moved to Ringo's lounger, wrapping his arms around him. "And when you joined, you became a part of that. Really. Have no doubt of this."

"Some days I don't know what I'm doing here. You're all gorgeous, brilliant, talented songwriter and musicians and I'm just... Andy White's fill in."

"Oh," George rubbed his hand firmly over Ritch's back. "That's not true, that's why we all lost it when you were gone." 'When you _left'_ he doesn't say. He liked to remember Ringo's absence as a force of nature, unstoppable, unpreventable no matter how regrettable. He hated to think it was in part his actions that led to such a horrible thing.

"Oh yeah? Lost it so much Paul just did the drumming for the tracks."

"Right, and have you heard? Shite. Not to mention, his 'kaleidoscope' eyes have nothing on your baby blues, that's why you're the favorite." Even though so much as changed since they first went to America and debuted on the Ed Sullivan Show, the boys always remembered how Ringo was the favorite in the press and with the fans. And so they've always called him that even as public opinion shifted and wanned. Because he was the Beatles' favourite, so he was the Beatle favourite. Even when John and Paul could barely stop orbiting each other, they still teased and ribbed each other, assuring one another that they were at best only second favourite.

This gets more than the laugh he was expecting. Ringo gets this little smirk. "Kaleidoscope eyes huh?"

"Huh? That not what they are called? All brown and green or blue or some shite."

"I think Paul and Linda will be very happy together, but I think it will be the death of the Beatles," Ringo said right out of left field. George would very much just like to repeat his 'huh.' "I think you should talk to him. I think you should focus on what made you friends before, and _then_ build on that. You were his John before, but you could be again. I've seen how you two look at each other, you really could be. And, the both of you not just Paul, could stand to do a little more listening."

"You think Paul's problem is that people don't listen to him enough?"

Ringo shrugged casually lighting another cigarette. "Does anyone get listened to enough? Especially in this band?" He waved his hand, shushing the very thought. "I just think John did that for him, like a wife y'know to unload your problem onto and work through them."

"John was like his wife," George repeated. He tried to sound incredulous, but honestly it made scary sense. Paul, not really even caring for Jane, John running away from Cynthia as fast as he could. They hadn't settled down like he and Ritch had, not that they'd been any happier for doing so. Right okay, so a wife as someone to lean on, and Paul needed that now that his pseudo-wife Johnny was unavailable. George couldn't help but to imagine him in a silky dressing gown and a bonnet. George burst out laughing at the very thought.

As soon as he managed to get his breath back, losing it between words, he managed to relay this to Ringo and pretty soon they were both laughing hysterically. Once they'd managed to calm down, Geo agreed that he understood what had been meant by 'wife.' Maybe Ritch was right and he could do a little more listening to Paul. But he was unbearable when he was commander-in-charge of the studio, so it would have to be somewhere else, probably his home honestly.

"I'll do it. I'll do my best but no promises," George told Ringo who just smiled softly back at him.

"If anyone can snap him out of this sickness, I truly believe it's you." And Rings seemed to be more than humoring his theory. They've all seen it, like Paul has become a completely different person they don't recognize, not their friend whom they know and love.

"Well, I'm no volcano but I'll see what I can do." 'For you,' he thought but does not say, because... somehow it was not true. Of course he loved Paul, it just seemed that with all the fighting he'd somehow lost that. Most days he couldn't stand him, let alone like him. But there was a time, when he was still so young and untried, that Paul was his best friend. Whatever had this terrible world done to those young boys or was this the nature of growing up? If so, he wanted no part of it. He wanted to be just as youthly optimistic as Ringo.

Unsurprisingly when George made his way down, everyone had escaped -err- left, and it was just Paul, mixing his out tracks. Paul looked up at him with fury and thunderstorms in said 'kaleidoscope' eyes. "I'm not here to fight, I promise." Ringo wanted a truce, if not outright peace, and George was going to do his best. Not just for the drummer, but for himself and for the whole band. "I'd like to do anything but that for once."

Paul seemed to soften at this. Maybe he didn't enjoy being a tyrant any more than they enjoyed his reign. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Feels like it's been forever since that's happened." Okay, he seemed almost reasonable like this. But what would it take for him to never be tyrannical like that again?

George wanted the scales to fall from his eyes, for him to snap out of this 'ring madness.' "I was thinking we could go out, somewhere, literally anywhere," _but here_. They had so much bad blood here now, not to mention all the people they knew that could pop in.

"Home? Yours or mine?"

Of course, that seemed like the only possibility. For all their wealth, they had only gilded their cages firmer shut. But if they went to Paul's then it would be his advantage, and same with George's. George shrugged, "Nah, I was thinking out. Like Cambareri's?" It was a lovely little Italian restaurant that was seemingly tucked away from bustling London with private rooms and multiple exits.

"Oh, okay sure," Paul nodded slowly. "But you should know I don't kiss on the first date."

George couldn't remember the last time he and Paul had a laugh. A weight seemed to be slowly lifting from Paul's shoulders. Could he really do this?Could something as 'simple' as the power of positive thinking and love fix them?

They took a town car there, mostly quiet but for once it was not tense. The car dropped them off in the back alley behind the restaurant where they entered through an unmarked door. It might be for celebrities they tell themselves, but they honestly don't care about any mob ties as long as the food was good and the privacy was real.

Without comment the waitress ushered them to a tiny private room. George didn't think he'd ever just been here with one other person. It had to be only nearly as wide as a phonebooth, their knees brushing against each other as they sat at the table. The thick wooden walls, that swallowed up all sound, causing a dim atmosphere as though it was evening rather than lunch. The lights were set to low, a tea candle in the middle of the table only adding to the atmosphere. Paul's joke about a date rang more true.

"So..." Right, conversation preferably in no way shape or form related to music, the band, or the album. Which you know, happened to be the thing they did all day everyday for like the last decade. "Did you ever get around to watching Planet of the Apes?" The close quarters had him speaking softly, barely above a whisper. Fuck but this really was intimate, if he was still wearing a stupid neck strangler he'd loosen it right about now. He stared at his menu as though he didn't order the same thing every time he was here.

Paul shook his head, "Nah, I was busy and then it was no longer screening."

"Would recommend it." Fuck, well there go his plans to talk about it or about it's twist. Conversation seemed difficult or maybe they were just being weighed down by all their history and baggage. Stupid idea to talk about a film anyways. Wouldn't work to just blurt out, 'We care about you, don't you care about us?'

"Are you gonna-" / "Did you get around to-" They interrupted each other, laughing nervously. Fuck, everything felt so awkward, like they were strangers rather than best friends. Or like this really was their first date. "It's the first date quip getting to me," Paul joked exactly what George was thinking.

"And here I thought you were a good ladies' man."

"No need to be any good when they just throw themselves at you," Paul said, pretty dejectedly really.

"Right, can't imagine what that's like," George only half joked. He understood of course, what it was like to be stared at without being seen. To be little more than an object people desired. Even if the thing he's carved out with Pattie has turned to rot, he remembered it fondly. He knew it was possible. But had Paul ever really had that? "I mean I was young when we exploded but me and Pattie, we did make it work. So there's hope for you- for us- still."

"Did? Not so now?"

"Nah," he didn't want to talk about it really. Paul had Linda, Love of His LifeTM. He'd far rather bitch with Ringo who, for whatever reason, was also nose diving with Mo. He thought Ritch had been far luckier with Mo, and couldn't quite understand why they were fighting even as he supported Ritch. "But it's whatever you know. Sometimes people just grow apart, at least we don't have a kid. C'est la vie. But you- I mean you and Jane didn't marry cause you were never really that close..."

"Yeah," Paul didn't elaborate, staring at his menu. Of course, during that time he had John, and there was only so much space in his heart and with his time. Only enough for one.

"So you've never... had that, cause you were what twenty when we-?" He waved about as though there had ever been anything like Beatlemania before.

Paul shrugged, "Guess not, but I might. With Linda you know?"

"Yeah, she seems... nice." She certainly didn't come off as much of a bitch as Yoko. But honestly George wasn't sure that Yoko wasn't good for John sometimes. It was hard to say because John was spiraling so fast, so hard, that he couldn't tell if she was making things better or worse. The depression firstly, she'll really came in when he was stuck in his blues and she seemed to make him happy for the first time in a long time.

But then... the heroin for another. John was a big boy who was completely capable of doing his own fuck ups all by himself. But clearly he was using with her. Had she led him to, or had he? And now she was enabling him, but if they made a push to sobriety together, their bond was so strong it really could work. And for all that it was a horrible drug, complete leagues apart from anything like hash, they did seem to be using it in moderation.

So while Yoko might yoyo John between better and worse, Linda's... Well she comes off more like their other wives, and as Ringo and George can now attest, that's not really a good thing. Doormates, needy ones. And this one came with a child, sure it only made Paul want her more, but to George he just saw it as another anchor locking him down. Like what was she offering Paul, really? But sure, for all that, she did seem nice.

"Might not work out with her though, maybe that kind of life will never be right for me." The fact that Paul made no effort to try and convince George said a lot, or maybe he didn't want to fight, which was also a sign.

George wanted to believe in hope but it was hard. Still he felt like he was at a turning point, two paths before him. The one where they tried to fix this, and the one where they let the cracks grow until it all fell into ruin. Maybe if he was blunt, he could actually get somewhere. Know if Paul was coming or going. "I just- Me and Ringo were talking. That you'd like someone to lean on. Like with John-"

"John doesn't need me anymore," Paul interrupted harshly. Really still hurt and raw that his best friend was throwing him over for some girl. Which was fair, but George wanted to help heal this.

"Right," he bit back the nasty remarker that was in his nature to follow up with.

"Come on then," Paul could clearly tell George had more to say from his expression with how close they were sat.

George didn't want to start another fight but also, "I don't want the band to break up, to lose it all, because you two can't fucking figure your shit out." Damn but that sounded pretty accusatory. What would Ringo say? "Not if I can help it." There, that was better.

"Help? It's not like John wants-"

"This isn't about him!" Shit, he hadn't meant to yell. He didn't mean to be so hostile, God why had Ringo asked him to do this? The drummer probably could do a better job, or at least not fuck up so much and so quickly.

Paul looked stunned by this outburst. Rather than returning his heat with his own heat, he settled down summoning the waitress with the buzzer. They give their orders like everything was fine, and George does actually manage to calm down. For all that he's known as the quiet one, his temper was really something to rival John's.

"So what did you mean then?" Paul finally asked once they had their wine, taking a sip. Alcohol could either make this much better or worse. They always seem to be all or nothing kind of boys.

"That you need someone to lean on, like I don't think just professional but that too. You've seen how Yoko is in the studios, we don't really want that, so if you'd-"

"But me and John-"

"Bring up his name one more motherfucking time, I dare you," George snapped quietly but his voice as cutting as a whip. Pretty boy Paul looked stunned silent at least for the moment, although there was no way he was just gonna roll over and be submissive, not when he'd made it his day job to be a tyrant. " **Me**. Ringo and I thought it could be an idea. I've been helping Ringo write. And I've been doing my own," Not that the Beatles have seen half of those. Wouldn't want to be interrupting the Lennon-McCartney show.

Paul didn't say anything for a long moment, simply staring at him as though waiting for the punchline. "...You?"

George was going to flip over this table right onto Paul's pretty face and abandon this band to its own self destruction. Why was he bothering to mend fences when he certainly couldn't be on John's level let alone Paul's. Just the quiet one that should shut his mouth and let it happen.

"I, uh... well, sure maybe," Paul said in the least enthusiastic or convinced tone George had ever heard.

"If you don't fucking want my help, you can just shove off. It was only a suggestion." Christ, George should have known, it was stupid and pointless to ever even think of 'replacing' John.

"No, no, I uh-" Paul at least seemed to realized he'd fucked up. "I was just surprised, I haven't considered anything like that before." Anything like what? Like George? What was he now too good for a Scouser? If Paul thought he was doing anything other than digging himself deeper, he was delusional.

But George remembered like cold water calming him down, that was exactly what he'd accused Paul of being on the roof. Delusional. Sick. Mad. So George blowing up, succumbing to his temper, wasn't the thing to be solving this. He needed to do what Paul seemly couldn't and set aside his temper. There was no chicken broth or cold compresses that could fix this though. Just patience and probably a whole lot of loving. Some slapping around the head wasn't completely ruled out though. George really did love him, one of his best friends, _brothers_ practically, but he could be a real fucking pain in the arse moron.

He took a big, deep bracing breath. "Right." Thankfully, before George would have to find another way to extend an olive branch for Paul to burn, the waitress knocked. Food! It might not solve their problems but it sure as shite didn't hurt. The chef was some mother or grandmother of the owner, again probably because it was just a mafia front, but holy hell damn was she talented.

As he chowed, he tried more casually to talk to Paul. Easy, basic things like: should we try working on songs, problem solving for it, in the studio before hours or after. But with Paul it was fucking worse than pulling teeth. George even wished he was getting a root canal rather than listening to 'John and I' this and "Well with John' that. He got it, they were codependent, but fuck man. George didn't reply to Paul's ideas or ask another question, hope the sheer force of his stare would get him to stop.

How did he befriend other people? He's pretty sure he and Ritchie's relationship almost wholly focus now on ribbing and roasting John and Paul. There was no convenient volcano to upchuck Paul into, but he could at least channel some Samwise. "So that's what you did with John, but what are you going to do with me?" Ohh, maybe that came out a little more biting. He shoved some garlic bread in his mouth to stop it from doing that again. Fuck, if it wasn't for Paul this could be heaven.

George tried to focus on what Paul was saying enough to understand. Floundering uselessly without apologizing or even acknowledging he did anything wrong. Right then back to making sweet love to garlic bread. How could Paul not know that relationships or hell even conversations were about give and take. Monologues weren't actually polite off a stage. But maybe they'd just been famous to long. George was sure he could find ten screaming fans in a one mile radius that would like nothing more than for The Paul McCartney to talk their ear off.

"Do you know how to dance?" George interrupted the 'but I've only ever worked with John or I don't see why I can't work alone' diatribe.

"Huh?" Paul blinked his stupid pretty kaleidoscope eyes. "Whatcha mean? You've seen me dance."

George waved that away as he took a swig of the wine. At least he was getting a good meal out of this ordeal. "Like ballroom dancing, with a partner?" Where they had to follow the queues of each other and the music for a greater whole. Actually the more George thought about it, the better his spur of the moment idea seemed.

"Yeah, probably better than you can," Paul joked puffing himself up like the preening peacock he was. "Took lessons and everything when I was little. And when filming me and Ellie danced in that one scene."

What George remembered about that whole scene was the sitars, but sure, dancing. Paul always wooing the women and sweeping them right up off their feet. "Right, and when's the last time you danced like that?"

"Hmmm," having to think about it was already a sign that it had been a while, "Must have been Taylor's wedding."

"So, it's been a while then." It's real basic but George doesn't know if they should start there. He's heard of big companies doing things like that. Have their executives go on like nature retreats and do trust exercises. It's a weird possibly stupid idea but honestly so are most of their ideas, they haven't let that stop them before. And it at least has a hope of turning out better than if they were just to try and write together or something. Not to mention if they did that, there'd be the huge specter of John lurking.

"Uh, yeah I guess. Why? You want us to go dancing? Is that the second stop on our date?"

Motherfucker. Sure, it was funny except for the part where it wasn't. George was really trying to build a relationship with Paul just not of that nature, and his little jabs weren't helping. It was making things awkward between them when George was trying to make things flow better, not worse. "Only if you pay for my tab," George quipped back definitely less playfully.

"For you my love, of course," Paul teased, batting his long lashes. If he didn't look so fucking pretty all the time, George is sure he'd appreciate the joke more.

Just to be a petty bastard, George ordered a dessert to go as Paul settled the tab. He'd already eaten like a king, but a little more for a snack later won't go amiss. "Are you planning on sharing?" Paul joked.

"I don't know, am I?" George stared him down, sure he always appreciated the things in life especially as he watched Ringo's tragic diet, but this wasn't just about food. Could Paul only get his head out of his arse to impose upon others, or could he himself ever be giving and thoughtful to those around him? There was a time when Paul was like that, but that seemed so long ago. And it seemed like he could still be like that when he spoke to others, but not for his band mates, not for George.

But Paul didn't understand George's quip. So George just resigned himself that it was a lost cause for now as they called the town car around. It's not that George couldn't or wouldn't just tell him plainly 'you're actions a b & c are hurting us, they are self-centered, controlling and we don't appreciate being made to feel that way.' No the problem was he didn't think Paul would listen, much like he hadn't earlier when George asked the topic be brought away from John. Paul simply truly didn't think he caused any harm.

So what did that mean for Ringo's theory that Paul needed someone to listen to him? If Paul couldn't have John but wouldn't take George, and George didn't want him if Paul wouldn't listen in return, how could they go on? What would be their tipping point, and how could they make sure it was in their favour, in the band's favour? He was pretty sure that slaying orcs and climbing a volcano were more straightforward than this.

Instead George found himself on the strange life's path of ballrooming dancing with Paul at the guitarist's home. The only problem was that George himself didn't know how to ballroom dance. Why the fuck had Paul had lessons when he was younger? Who the fuck needed to know how to dance a waltz in the 20th century, especially when all he did was idolize rock'n'roll. Paul told him, with a laugh and that damn twinkle in his eye, that he'd done it as an excuse to be flush chest to chest with birds. Cheeky fucker. Probably a good plan that worked out though.

Still it left George in a bit of a pickle. He had _Fly Me to the Moon_ which could be a foxtrot and _Can't Help Falling in Love_ which could be a waltz, maybe. George didn't actually know anything about music when it came to this. "How about we just put something slow on to get our sea legs?" Paul offered as he found Frank Sinatra's _In the Wee Small Hours_ , nothing but slow songs on that one even if they were downers.

"Right sure." That was a good idea, there was nothing to slow dancing but slowly doddering about, still they could guide each other to turns and direction. Or at least it sounded like a good idea until they were in each other's arms, chest to chest, so close Paul was probably suffering George's garlic bread. He had not had enough wine for this, or maybe he'd had too much.

George tried not to focus on that, but instead focus on what his body was doing. Other than leeching Paul's heat everywhere they touched. And of fucking course, he was following Paul's lead. Just because Paul had the advantage of actually knowing what he was doing for the structured dancing, didn't mean he was better at slow dancing than George. Whatever, he could play along and be a good sport, as long as that pretty fucker understood they were gonna be switching.

His feet could easily follow the small and few movements, Paul's intent being clearly telegraphed by both the hands on his hips but also just his whole body tilting into Geo's. So without anything to focus on, his mind drifted. Paul's fancy cologne had worn off only for him to smell a little more natural, like someone that had worked and toiled hard in the studio while his mates had fucked off and left him to fend for himself against John&Yoko.

Okay so maybe their problems weren't just Paul's doing. He was leading because he knew more about dancing than George, it shouldn't matter because following was also important, especially in a band. Did they not all follow Ringo's count and beat? Much like listening, following was important for them to work together. And sure, he'd gone completely overboard with his rule in the studio becoming that of an uncaring tyrant but was it really surprising? With John their band leader gone, either with the smack or with Yoko, that left them rudderless. Only Paul demanded perfection in everything, failing to understand or care about the bigger picture or even morale.

He wasn't blameless was George's point, for all the he tried to let go or his frustration and bitterness for the greater whole. He knew why he was clutching onto bitterness. If... If a million things, if Paul cared, if George tried, if either of them made an effort, there could be something between them. Their crumbling relationship was almost easier to cling to, it was familiar. But a comfort zone is just a beautiful place where nothing can grow.

"How about I lead?" George offered as the song wound down. Paul graciously allowed for such, changing up their hands so that now George was holding his waist and Paul's were around his neck. Ironically the next song was _I Get Along Without You Very Well._

This wasn't harder, it just required a little more focus, he couldn't just let his mind drift the same way. Surprisingly Paul quickly fell into the groove, letting his body go almost limp as he followed where George led. That kind of trust was kind of humbling. As silly as it sounds before this George wasn't sure he knew that Paul was capable of such a thing, but he must have, George told himself, if Paul had followed John.

Now how to make it translate to other things? He brought his attention away from his feet, trusting them to work and for Paul to follow. From this close up, his eyes looked even more kaleidoscope than ever. Browns, greens and blues all swirling togethers as though hypnotizing George to fall right in, to say nothing of the long lashes framing them. For all that Ringo should be so self deprecating towards himself, he was right. His boring blues have nothing on these.

Maybe right now if he spoke, when they were quiet and intimate, Paul could really listen. He tilted his head up ready to say something anything that might get through to him, but instead he was looking at those plush lips open ever so slightly. The realization came to him like a bolt of lightning. How George could never close that gap, never be as close as those too had been. John serving as Paul's 'wife.' Why Yoko's relationship with John superseding Paul's made him so upset. Why Paul was so literally heartbroken. Yeah, a talking to wasn't what Paul needed.

He closed the physical gap, kissing him softly. If it wasn't for the beard, it'd be just like a kissing a bird. Paul was stunned, unreacting to either push him away or pull him closer. So George broke it off to look at Paul. Paul had somehow softened, looking incredibly tender like... like he couldn't imagine being loved so. Was... had Geo been wrong?

"Paul..."

"George, I-" And the bassist was kissing him back. Alright maybe the girls had a point when they ranted and raved about how talented he was.

He thought, foolishly, that Paul was heartbroken from a break up, but that wasn't it at all. He was hurting from unrequited love. As much as Paul might have wanted, as much as John even might have, they hadn't. It had gone unsaid, and undone. Fools, the lot of them. But now George had been brave enough, daring enough, to reach out with both hands and take what he wanted. He wanted Paul, he wanted his love, his friendship, everything and more, he wanted them, he wanted the band. He wanted it all, and fucking hell was he gonna have it.

"Does this mean I get a slice of that tiramisu?" Paul joked, but much like in the restaurant there was more than the simple request for dessert.

George really had been just as thick as Paul. For all that money had lost its meaning to them, they still viewed it same as they had their whole life. That's why George insisted on a dessert to shove it to him. Which was only possible because Paul was paying. Because deep down, of course, Paul had always cared for them, for him. "It's a zeppole you uncultured heathen."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Illness + slow dancing


End file.
